UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



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CONSOLATORY 



H°. 3,6. 



VIEWS OF DEATH: 



ADDRESSED TO 



A FRIEND UNDER BEREAVEMENT 



TO WHICH ARE ADDED, 



SOME PRAYERS IN AFFLICTION, 









BY 



HENRY COLMAN. 



l 




BOSTON: 

A. D. PHELPS, 124, WASHINGTON STREET. 



1844. 










€ 




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Entered according to Act of Congress, in the Clerk's Office 

of the District Court of Massachusetts, 

by A. D. Phelps, 1844. 








PREFACE. 



The following Tract presents views on the sub- 
ject of Death, different from those which are 
generally received ; but which will not, I hope, 
on that account be considered the less just and 
true. They are offered to the public without 
any thought to give offence to those who differ 
in opinion from the writer, and with no wish 
to make others proselytes to his notions, farther 
than they accord with reason and truth. One of 
the highest duties of the human understanding is, 
" to vindicate the ways of God to man." What- 
ever obscurity to our narrow views may hang 
over the dispensations of the Divine Providence, 



IV PREFACE. 

we may feel sure that they are all consistent with 
infinite wisdom and benevolence. Let us have 
the courage then to reject any and all doctrines 
which serve no other end than to stamp his 
government with the worst features of an arbi- 
trary and unrelenting despotism; nor ascribe to 
Him, the all-holy, purposes and measures which 
would be deemed libellous, if applied to any 
human sovereign; nor have a doubt that the 
perfection of benevolence must predominate 
throughout the works and dominion of a Being 
whose nature is love itself. The world in which 
God has placed us is everywhere radiant with 
the beauty of his goodness, and flooded with the 
outpourings of his love. There are objects of 
suffering to give us pain; and moral anomalies, 
which it may be difficult satisfactorily to explain; 
and evils, which sometimes alarm and shock us; 
but why should we be inclined to multiply these 
evils and difficulties by a system of theology 
which presents everything in a distorted light; 



PREFACE. V 

and would narrow down the works and purposes 
of God, to the low standard of human weakness 
and passion. These mean notions, in my humble 
opinion, spring in a great measure out of a literal 
interpretation of early and obscure traditions, 
which, on whatever authority they may be sup- 
posed to rest, are obviously in the highest degree 
allegorical, and admit to the mind, which has 
the courage to rest upon its own conclusions, of 
no other construction. The tendency of such 
notions is to dishonour God, and to fill the mind 
with anxiety and distress. The sole object of 
the annexed Tract is to place some portion of 
this great subject in a more just and rational 
light; and to pour hope and consolation into 
the heart, bleeding under the breaking off of 
those affections and attachments, which consti- 
tute in so great a measure the delight and charm 
of our earthly existence. Some friends, in whose 
judgment the writer feels a strong confidence, 
thought its publication would, in some degree, 

a% 



VI . PREFACE. 

answer these ends; and that ifmight be useful 
as a present to persons suffering under the 
bereavements of Death. In compliance with 
their wishes it has been printed. 

June, 1844. 



CONSOLATOKY VIEWS OF DEATH. 



Death is always a great event; it is great in 
respect to the individual who falls under the 
blow, and also in respect to those to whom he 
or she was an object of interest, affection, or 
even of common intercourse and acquaintance. 
The birth of a child is a great event. The 
mother forgets her agony in her joy that a child 
is born into the world. A flood of new affec- 
tions rises in her heart, and they pour them- 
selves out over this new idol, like sparkling and 
gushing waters from a boiling spring. Gilded 
visions of future years, of future honours, at- 
tainments and usefulness, of bright talents which 
lie enclosed in this casket, yet to be developed, 
and of successes and achievements which are to 
reflect their lustre upon a parent's name, and 
pour joy into a parent's heart, play round the 
imagination. But here, bright as the prospects 
may be, or uncertain as they may be, the objects 
lying before us are defined; we have had expe- 



8 CONSOLATORY VIEWS 

rience of life; we know what we may expect. 
Even when passed under favoured and auspi- 
cious circumstances, we know the extent of its 
goods, the value of its pleasures, the nature and 
worth of its attainments. We know, likewise, 
what its dangers and trials are, and what its 
sufferings may be. The chapter of human 
experiences is read to us, and by us, daily and 
hourly. Our own history makes a portion of it. 
We know the vanities and vexations of life; 
we have seen again and again the end of what 
men call perfection here below. When a child 
therefore enters the world, we know what it 
may enjoy, suffer, attain, accomplish. In a 
word, we know what human life on earth is. It 
is different when an individual dies. They retire 
from our intercourse ; we do not know what has 
become of them; where they have gone; where 
they are. They have launched into what to us 
is a fathomless and shoreless ocean. No mortal 
line has sounded its depths; no human eye has 
explored its wide waste. An impenetrable dark- 
ness hangs over it. The appearances of death 
are all astounding. Whether the blow falls 
suddenly, and the light is extinguished by a 
single blast; or whether it appears loth to quit 
its hold, and is seen a long time quivering in its 
socket, sometimes in its fitful changes seeming 



OF DEATH. 9 

to have expired, and then rekindling and shed- 
ding its flickering rays about the room; yet 
when it does go out, the change is the same — 
the darkness is equally intense. 

There lies that which was once full of life and 
activity, buoyant with health, strong in muscular 
energy, moving with celerity, commanding its 
own limbs, quick in its perceptions, ardent in its 
pursuits, — its eyes lit up with the sparkling fires 
of wit and genius, and its bosom swelling with 
lofty purposes and with generous affections; an 
object to wonder at, to doat upon, to love, to 
reverence — I had almost said to adore — for it 
bore the image of the Creator; and in what 
earthly object are his perfections so vividly dis- 
played. The frost of death touches it — its 
leaves drop off — its stem falls to the ground, — 
it is crushed and withered. Where life was 
there is now death. What a change! The 
ferocious conqueror, the hero of a hundred 
victories, lies there; his sword has fallen, his 
unclenched hand rests powerless by his side, 
and a child may beard him now. The eloquent 
orator, upon whose voice listening senates hung 
with rapture, and whose words fell upon their 
hearts like liquid fire kindling an instant flame, 
lies speechless there. The philosopher, whose 
capacious thoughts held high converse continu- 



10 



CONSOLATORY VIEWS 



ally with the heavenly worlds, who essayed to 
hold the mighty elements of nature subject to 
his command; his w T isdom, his knowledge, his 
power avail nothing here, — his empire is over; 
the sceptre of art, learning, and skill lies shat- 
tered; the glittering plumes of his boasted wis- 
dom are plucked from his crown, and the clown 
may now point at him the finger of scorn. 

There are objects still nearer and dearer to 
us than these. The parent hugs the loved but 
lost child to his bosom, ere the fading tints of 
life, lingering like the last rays of twilight, have 
gone ; but the strongest pulsations of his heart 
kindle no kindred warmth. There is, perhaps, 
another object before you, so lately active, busy, 
cheerful, kind, useful; the light of your dwelling, 
the revered centre of fond affections and kind 
and willing services ; the faithful counsellor; the 
true heart which never would betray you ; the 
disinterested friend, whose life would at any 
time have been offered a willing sacrifice for your 
life or your happiness — the wife — the mother; 
the wife, what a wife should be; the mother, 
what a mother can be; there she lies, reposing 
in her last sleep, to wake on earth no more. 
Put your hand upon that forehead, how cold 
and icy it seems. Press that hand once more, 
it returns no token of recognition even to the 



OF DEATH. 11 

tenderest conjugal affection. Speak to her, 
" Mother, dearest mother, answer me but a 
single word, — look upon me ! O give me one 
more parting glance." But the eye is closed; 
and the ear that before was never deaf to the 
softest whisper of her child's desire or sorrow, 
could not hear now even the cannon's roar. 
There, indeed, this loved object lies— motionless, 
deaf, sightless, speechless, with every sense 
departed, and waiting only to be put away for 
ever! 

The mind is confounded, and the heart is 
ready to burst with grief, under the painful 
spectacle which presents itself; and when, under 
such circumstances, in the bitterness of our 
grief, and under the amazement of the change 
which death produces, and with an impatience of 
curiosity growing out of the depth and strength 
of our bleeding affections, we inquire how are 
the dead raised up, and with what body do 
they come, St. Paul calls us fools,* the language 
seems too severe. It appears harsh, and with- 
out due compassion for the weakness of poor 
human nature. 

If such inquiries imply any distrust -of the 
power of God to do what He will, or of his wis- 

* " Thou fool ! that which thou sowest is not quickened 
except it die." — 1 Cor. xv. 35. 



12 CONSOLATORY VIEWS 

dom in all the arrangements of his providence 
to discern the best ends and to adopt the best 
method for their accomplishment, or of his 
benevolence to provide for the true welfare and 
happiness of his creatures, this scepticism would 
be not merely folly but madness. Perhaps this 
is what the Apostle intended. But if he would 
censure us for the sadness which overwhelms 
us under a dispensation so mysterious as death, 
under the doubts and difficulties and painful 
yet affectionate queries which force themselves 
upon us, and wring the heart with anguish, his 
judgment is hard; and he makes no allowance 
for our humble faith ; how humble and how im- 
perfect, compared with that which beamed upon 
his rapt spirit in light directly from heaven, 
" above the brightness of a meridian sun.' 2 
Would to God that we could have some mea- 
sure of this triumphant faith to sustain us under 
the bereavements of death, which are frequent 
in early life; and the tidings of which, as we pass 
within the boundaries of age, seem borne upon 
every breeze, and strike the ear in almost as 
rapid a succession as the strokes of the passing 
bell! But let us look at this subject more closely, 
and see where we can find support, and where 
we can find hope, if there is any support and 
any hope to be found. 



OF DEATH. 13 

The first light or aspect under which death 
presents itself to a reflecting mind, is as a law of 
our being, and consequently as a divine appoint- 
ment. It is not an accident; it is not a sort of 
second thought on the part of the Creator, and 
a circumstance appended to our being after our 
creation. Mortality forms as much a part of 
our nature as vitality. It is supposed that in 
the patriarchal ages men lived much longer 
than they now do, the ages of some of them 
extending through centuries. If the years of 
their calendar were the same as ours, and if there 
be no error in the reckoning, they must have 
attained to a remarkable longevity. It is not 
certain, however, that this was the case; and 
it is now a question beyond being determined. 
It is understood that the Arabs of modern 
times live to a very advanced age. Climate, 
diet, habits of life, all at that time, and now, 
affect the duration of life. But sooner or later 
death comes, and comes wherever there is life. 
All that are born must die. 

Man follows this great law of animal life, 
which may therefore be pronounced universal. 
In ordinary cases, and when not cut "off by 
accident or disease, he attains his growth like 
other animals, by gradual progress, and then 
immediately begins to decline. No art or skill 

B 



14 CONSOLATORY VIEWS 

can evade this decline, or prolong his life beyond 
its natural term. In this he does not differ at 
all from every other being which has life. 

It is the same throughout all nature. If we 
go into the forests, we behold there a picture 
of human life. There are the tender plants 
just starting above the ground; there are the 
young trees with their smooth bark and bright 
foliage in the full vigour of growth; there are 
full-grown trees in the perfection of life; there 
are those whose bark is rough and wrinkled, 
whose limbs are many of them broken, whose 
foliage has become thin and imperfect ; there 
are others with the roots partially upturned, 
perhaps leaning against and sustained by others, 
with here and there a few green twigs indicat- 
ing the last struggling efforts of life; and then 
everywhere upon the ground are scattered the 
mouldered and mouldering remains of many 
generations which have fallen, and are becoming 
again the nutriment of younger and new life. 

In the brute creation, or in what may be 
called the kingdom of instinctive and irrational 
life, the same law of death prevails, modified by 
a system of universal prey. A large portion of 
the animal creation are supported by vegetable 
life ; but a much larger subsist upon each other, 
and live upon the blood and flesh of other 



OF DEATH. 15 

tribes. Man himself is an animal of prey, and 
the most rapacious and indiscriminate of all 
others. Here then, likewise, the law of death 
prevails universally; and though in such cases 
life seems often prematurely cut off, yet let the 
animal be ever so strongly protected against 
injury or assault, by no possible art or skill can 
life be extended beyond its natural term. 

Let me say a word here upon this curious 
fact in animal life. The system of prey which 
prevails in the animal creation has been deemed 
to militate against the Divine benevolence. If 
the brute animals had the same sensibilities as 
the human, it would, indeed, be a dreadful state 
of existence to them — full of fear and full of 
wretchedness. But they are without reflection, 
and have probably no more fear of death than 
is sufficient to induce them to provide for their 
own subsistence, and to guard against ordinary 
perils. It seems, then, a benevolent arrange- 
ment on the part of the Creator, that He has 
made even the food upon which animal life is 
sustained itself animated; multiplied its existence 
under infinitely varied forms of beauty, and 
endued it while living with the capacity of 
perfect enjoyment. 

Death, then, is the universal law of animal 
existence. It must be, therefore, the appoint- 



16 CONSOLATORY VIEWS 

ment of the same wisdom, and the same bene- 
volence, which gave life; and if life is a blessing, 
as flowing from the Divine love, death itself 
must be also a blessing, for the same fountain 
does not send forth sweet water and bitter. 

Some persons choose to consider death as a 
curse from God. What a darkness and a horrible 
gloom does such a conception at once bring 
over the mind ! But it cannot be. Why should 
God curse his works; why should he create 
such beings as we are, only to be miserable? 
If we could imagine an earthly despot, out of 
pure vindictiveness, or because some one of his 
poor subjects had offended him, therefore 
cursing the guilty, and cursing the innocent, 
and pouring out an eternal curse of misery 
upon their bodies and souls, the houses in 
which they dwell, and every object which their 
eye covets, and every spot of ground which 
their foot treads upon, — then we should have 
an idea of the God whom some men worship; 
and whom, strange as it may seem, they call 
upon us to praise for His mercy. Let us thank 
Heaven that a better light has dawned upon 
our minds. 

All this grows out of and makes a part of a 
system of theology, which, notwithstanding the 
eminent moral worth of many persons who 



OF DEATH. 17 

receive it, seems to me so inconsistent with all 
just and reverential sentiments of the Deity, 
that I do not deem it worth while to examine 
its pretensions. Death was in the world before 
man was in the world. Various kinds of 
vegetables, and various races of animals, as the 
discoveries of geology fully prove, flourished and 
perished before man was upon the earth; and 
many of these races have become extinct. If 
death came as the punishment of sin, it seems 
unaccountable that whole races of animals 
should have perished before man existed; and 
that it should appertain as much to the brute 
and the vegetable tribes, as to the human race. 
If we look at the constitution of man, every 
one must see that the human frame w T as not 
made to endure for ever ; and that, like all other 
classes of animated beings, man has his growth 
and his decline. It is a universal law of being, 
that life on earth, let it exist under what form 
it may, should have its measured term, the 
conclusion of which may, in various ways, be 
anticipated, but can in no case be avoided. So 
far from being a curse, therefore, I believe as 
much as I live, that death is an appointment of 
the Divine benevolence; for so predominant are 
the Divine goodness and love throughout the 
whole creation, that there can be found no 

b2 



18 CONSOLATORY VIEWS 

universal law, principle, or arrangement, whose 
end is evil, or only to produce pain or suffering. 
On the contrary, there can be found none, so 
far as we are capable of understanding its 
operation, whose design and adaptation are not 
to produce happiness and good. Death, then, 
is the appointment of the Divine benevolence; 
so far from being a curse, it must be a blessing. 
It is easy to see how enjoyment is extended, 
how happiness is multiplied by a constant suc- 
cession of beings. If we could suppose any 
arrangement by which the waste of life should 
be suspended, and life should go on increasing 
in the ordinary ratio, in a quarter of a century 
every spot of this earth would be crowded to an 
excess, and universal want and misery would 
flood the world. But suppose, for there is no 
end to the suppositions, and many of them 
extremely absurd, in which the human imagina- 
tion loves to indulge — suppose only so many to 
exist as there is room for here; do we not know 
how much more vivid is the enjoyment of the 
fresh, the youthful, those who are just entering 
upon the career of life, than of the old, and those 
whose sensibility has become blunted by use, 
and whose. appetite has been long since satiated 
by indulgence. I refer now to sensible plea- 
sures merely, because I am speaking of the 



OF DEATH. 19 

brute as well as the human races. In a succes- 
sion of races new capacities are still coming out, 
and new courses of happiness are to be run by 
them. 

Then, again, is death to be complained of on 
the part of the Creator? Had we any right to 
ask a longer continuance of life than God is 
pleased to grant? Is life no blessing, because 
we must die? Are friends no blessing, because 
we cannot have them always ? If life is no 
blessing, why do we complain of dying? I know 
that a great many perish in infancy, and to a great 
many life is a course of severe suffering; and 
yet it seldom happens, even in the most pitiable 
cases, that there is not a much larger amount 
of enjoyment than of suffering. It was not the 
design of the Creator, we have every reason to 
believe, to kindle life merely that it should 
be extinguished. In the cases of infants and 
voung children there is seldom much suffering, 
and no mental pain. Nor have we any grounds 
to suppose that even in the worst cases of defor- 
mity, deficiency, or constitutional disease, it 
was the intention of the Creator to give pain. 
"We have yet to learn in how many of these cases 
the shortening of life and protracted suffer- 
ings spring from our own fault, folly, neglect, 
or voluntary ignorance. But setting these cases 



20 CONSOLATORY VIEWS 

aside, we must acknowledge life is adapted to 
be a blessing. To the prudent and virtuous, it 
abounds with unnumbered sources of happiness 
and good; and it yields the purest felicity, when 
it is made the instrument of happiness and good 
to others. What good man, faithful to his duty 
and his conscience, and looking upon the bless- 
ings which have fallen to his lot, the alleviations 
which have been mingled with even his severest 
sufferings, the contributions which he has been 
permitted to bring to the public welfare, and 
the happiness which he has been instrumental 
in diffusing among others, does not find constant 
and abundant reason to thank God that he has 
lived; and even upon the supposition that there 
were no life beyond the present, would he have 
any ground whatever, would it not be most un- 
grateful on his part, to complain that life must 
have an end? 

Again, looking at man as an intellectual and 
moral being, we must remember the various 
influences which operate upon him. Habit and 
prejudice hold a powerful sway over his mind 
and character. If his mind is clouded or per- 
verted by error, time too often establishes and 
strengthens it. If he has been the slave of his 
lower appetites and passions, and his life has been 
stained by the repetitions of vice, time fixes 



OF DEATH. 21 

these habits, as it were, with iron chains. The 
moral feelings become more and more blunted 
and depraved, and, like the demoniac in the 
Scriptures, the last state of that man becomes 
worse than the first. There is in many such cases 
little hope of reformation; there is often none of 
amendment. What a blessing is death then, if 
it does no more than put an end to this progress 
in vice; and if, in respect to the enslaved and 
perverted mind, it breaks up all these false asso- 
ciations and removes all these corrupt influences, 
which wholly obstruct its progress here ; and, if 
so it should please God to rekindle this mind 
hereafter, prepares it to enter fresh, vigorous, 
and unbiassed, upon a new course of knowledge 
and virtue. 

But, again, who would wish to live here 
always? I do not mean to undervalue life. I 
love my friends, my home, my country, the 
world. I love mankind : would to God they 
were what they might be ! I have complaints 
enough to make of myself, but I have no com- 
plaints to make of life. My blessings, if they 
had been not a hundredth part of what they 
have been, would have been, I had almost said, 
a hundred times more than I deserved; and here 
I know that I am uttering only the experience 
of others as well as my own. Many of us have 



22 CONSOLATORY VIEWS 

had to contend with poverty, sickness, dis- 
appointments, crosses, bereavements; and have 
seen many an hour of darkness and sorrow; but 
what of all that? We deserved them all; and if 
we had not deserved them all, God saw that we 
needed them all. Shall we complain of a phy- 
sician, because his medicines are nauseous and 
offensive? Shall a child resent the discipline 
of the most faithful and disinterested parental 
affection, though it be painful and severe ? How 
ungrateful this would be. 

But notwithstanding all this, notwithstanding 
all there is in life to love and to rejoice in, I 
find myself coming to an end. I seem to myself 
to have found out most that is to be found out 
here. My pleasures and employments have 
become familiar. They cease therefore to have 
that vivid interest and excitement with me, 
which they once had. My powers, even in 
their best estate, are very unequal to my desires; 
and many of the best desires of my soul remain 
unsatisfied. There is not room enough for their 
expansion. There is not to be found on earth 
that which will entirely satisfy the impatient 
longings of the mind. The soul here is hemmed 
in, imprisoned like the caged bird, and striking 
against his wires, pants like him to breathe 
the wild air of his native forests, and bask in the 



OF DEATH. 23 

pure sunshine of the open heavens. Yes, there 
are within the mind, burning and quenchless 
aspirations, after progress, improvement, more 
knowledge, more light; after that which we are 
conscious of our inability here to reach, after 
that which this world in all its fulness can never 
supply. We seek after something higher and 
far better than this earth affords, or our present 
powers can grasp,— we would not therefore live 
here always. When the purposes of this life 
are answered, and our earthly nature has run 
its course, why should we wish to remain ? This 
reconciles us to death; as the child at school is 
ready, on his probation, to ascend from a lower 
to a higher class. 

In these earnest desires after further progress; 
in these aspirations of the soul after other and 
higher attainments, we see a strong omen and 
indication of a future life. These desires and 
aspirations are all natural, natural to every pure 
mind, which has risen above the slavery of 
sense, and accustomed itself to reflection. Why 
should God have implanted such desires, had 
he not intended to gratify them ? and why should 
they not be gratified? 

But they are not left without his express 
sanction. "That which thou sowest is not 
quickened, except it die." Death then is the 



24 CONSOLATORY VIEWS 

foundation, and the passage to life. We do not 
pretend that vegetable life furnishes any exact 
analogy to spiritual life. We do not see, 
because a new plant springs from the perishing 
seed, that therefore a new form of animal life 
will spring out of these mouldering relics. We 
do not perceive, because, in the language of 
the Scriptures, " There is one glory of the sun, 
another glory of the moon, and another glory 
of the stars ; and because there is one flesh of 
men, another of fishes, and another of birds," 
that therefore the human being is to survive the 
grave; but in these things we see changes and 
varieties of forms of existence and life, as extra- 
ordinary as any, through which, upon the sup- 
position of a future life, the human existence 
is destined to pass; and which demonstrate the 
almighty power of God to give life and being 
under any form which he may choose. 

These considerations may in some measure 
reconcile the reflecting mind to death. It comes 
by the appointment of God, and it must be 
therefore the messenger of his wisdom and love. 
When the natural term of life seems finished, 
we should not desire to remain. We retire in 
our turn, that we may make room for the count- 
less multitudes that are coming after us. We 
have had ours; they have a right to their turn. 



OF DEATH. 

We pass onwards, and other generations succeed 
us; and thus, how immensely are beings, endued 
with capacities for happiness, multiplied. Unless 
it be our own fault, we accomplish the ends of 
this life; our capacities for further attainment 
and progress are hemmed in; death introduces 
us to a wider and boundless sphere for their ex- 
pansion. Death breaks up the barriers which 
here obstructed our further progress ; and in the 
unsatisfied capacities of the mind for greater and 
undefined attainments, and in the ardent desires 
and aspirations after life and immortality which 
are irrepressible, and, where not extinguished 
by sensuality, seem universal, there is an ein- 
phatical assurance of the life we are made to 
desire. 

Still, however, too often, in spite of all our 
philosophy, death will have its terrors; and the 
man who can look forward to it without anv 
emotion, must have extinguished to a degree 
the common sensibilities of his nature. The 
love of life prevails wherever animal life exists. 
I cannot say that I have not been sometimes 
ready to welcome death as a benefactor; if it 
had pleased God, in some miserable and despair- 
ing hours, to have sent him to my relief. Death 
may be preferred to long protracted and acute 
suffering; to utter helplessness; to fatuity and 

c 



26 CONSOLATORY VIEWS 

loss of reasofi; and to a dishonour, which often 
combines sufferings more acute and intense than 
any to which our physical nature may be doomed. 
The love of life may for various reasons be less 
strong in some minds than in others; but it is a 
rare case, save where positive disease has in- 
vaded and deranged the powers of the mind, that 
an attachment to life can be wholly extinguished. 
The love of life, and consequently the dread of 
death, are instinctive impulses, which make a 
part of the constitution of all animals; and are 
designed, in the benevolence of the Creator, to 
stimulate them to the exertion of powers neces- 
sary to sustain life, and to the avoidance of 
perils by which it is constantly endangered. 
If it were not found as it is, few would survive 
the first years, I may say, the first days, of in- 
fancy, and all animated existences would be 
blotted out of creation. These instinctive im- 
pulses do their office for the brute creation 
through the whole of their being. In man, 
reflection presently takes the place of instinct; 
and the love of life becomes an intellectual and 
a moral sentiment. Man loves life, because there 
is much in it to love; because of friends and the 
endearments of social and domestic attachments; 
because it abounds with enjoyments; because 
it is full of interest; because it gives employ- 



OF DEATH. 27 

ment to all his faculties; because, if he will be 
faithful to his duty, it opens before him a con- 
tinual progress even here towards something 
better; because it arouses all the activity of his 
mind, with its objects of curiosity; and because 
it lures him on continually with golden hopes 
and promises. These circumstances create a 
healthful attachment to life altogether favourable 
to virtue, and excite a corresponding fear of 
death. 

But let us examine this sentiment of the fear 
of death more closely, and consider it both in 
reference to ourselves, and in reference to what 
we feel in this case in respect to others who 
are dear to us, or in whom we take an interest. 

When old age has made long advances upon 
us; when the limbs stagger under his weight, 
and the intellectual light grows dim, and quivers 
in its socket; when the powers of enjoyment are 
gone, and the power of usefulness has ceased; 
when the judgment can no longer hold its scales 
even, and the records of memory become a con- 
fused and illegible mass, and man stands out 
only a fragment or shadow of his former self, 
— the work of earth seems finished, and we 
acquiesce in the removal; as, after the harvest 
is ripened, and the fruit gathered, we see with- 
out emotion the plants of the field perish. 



28 CONSOLATORY VIEWS 

It is otherwise when death arrests the middle- 
aged and the youthful in the midst of their use- 
fulness, in the flower of promise, in the golden 
sunshine of hope. We are struck dumb to see 
men struck down at a time when their presence 
seems most needed; when their useful schemes 
are in the very process of accomplishment, and 
when the relations of life are multiplied in every 
direction, and the ties which bind such indi- 
viduals to the community are never stronger. 
When in such circumstances the terrible blow 
falls, the shock is felt in astounding force through 
a wide circle. 

There are other cases of deep affliction and 
distress. When Jesus approached the city of 
Nain, He met the bier of a young man; and 
he was the only son of a widowed mother; 
perhaps her whole dependence, her joy, her 
pride — the only treasure which she felt she had 
in life; his virtuous character and filial affection 
the precious gems which she wore in her bosom, 
and which quickened every pulsation of her 
heart. On another occasion there came to Jesus 
a centurion, beseeching him to come and lay 
his hands upon his daughter, his only child, 
for she lay a-dying. With what emotions that 
father's heart was then struggling, how difficult 
would it be for any pen to describe ! These are 



OF DEATH. 29 

not rare instances of the terrible triumphs of 
death. It often seems to me, when I recal the 
events of the last thirty years, that hundreds 
and hundreds of these gay and happy beings, 
with hearts beating with the buoyant expecta- 
tions and hopes of youthful ambition, crowd 
around my delighted vision only to mock me 
with the terrible conviction that they are the 
mere shadows of what has been, and can no 
longer hear my voice nor grasp my hand, nor 
return even the faintest token of recognition. 

The triumphs of death seem sometimes, if 
possible, more unseasonable than even these. 
There are those who seem born only to die ; who 
are summoned away at the very breaking of the 
day of life to them; who are plucked from the 
arms of maternal affection ere yet they have 
clasped them. There are those who have learnt 
to charm us by their childish prattle, and to 
engage our hearts by their gentle affections, by 
their opening intelligence, by their rapid im- 
provements, by their singular beauty, and by 
the brilliancy of promise, which glitters around 
them. When death takes such a lamb from the 
fold, tears away such a nestling from the bosom 
of love, and, when as yet the ruddy tints of life 
have hardly faded on the cheek, requires us to 
commit an object so lovely, even in its shroud, 

c 2 



30 CONSOLATORY VIEWS 

to the grave, I scarcely know what severer duty- 
can be required, or with what new terrors death 
can be clothed. 

Now it is not the severity of disappointment, 
nor the breaking up of our affections alone, 
which give asperity to our sufferings; but it 
is, in truth, besides these, the mysteriousness 
of such dispensations which distresses and con- 
founds us. 

It is, indeed, a mystery to a great degree in- 
soluble to human sagacity. There will be found 
throughout the whole of nature a constant and 
prodigal waste of life. Vast multitudes perish 
in an unformed state, and countless myriads and 
myriads of living beings fail entirely of arriving 
at the maturity and perfection for which they 
were evidently intended. This remarkable phe- 
nomenon often arrests the attention of the 
reflecting; but in respect to the vegetable and 
brute creation, with whom we have little or no 
sympathy, we see it without concern. It is 
far otherwise with beings who share our own 
nature; who are a part of ourselves; who have 
intelligent and moral constitutions, and all 
those refined affections, sentiments, attributes, 
and moral elements, which seem like emanations 
from the Divinity, and elevate them to the 
highest rank in the scale of being. We feel 



OF DEATH. 31 

in these cases confounded, as though the end 
of their creation were not answered; the design 
were frustrated; and an incompleteness and im- 
perfection in the case, not in keeping with the 
completeness and perfection which prevail in 
other departments of nature, present themselves 
and seem incompatible, in some measure, with 
the power and wisdom of the Being who reigns 
over all. 

But such conclusions would be premature and 
unreasonable. The difficulties in the case must 
arise wholly from our ignorance, and the limita- 
tion and imperfection of our vision. The child 
of a year old, reposing in his mother's arms, 
knows as little of life as we do of the state into 
which death introduces us. The world around 
us is full of mysteries, which mock our investi- 
gation. The fructification of a seed, the quick- 
ening of an egg, the various transformations 
through which many of the insect tribes pass 
in their ephemeral existence, and the develop- 
ments of life in every case, are all impenetrable 
mysteries, utterly confounding to human saga- 
city. Our ignorance does not affect the facts, 
nor abate the marvellous beauty and wisdom of 
these arrangements. Now, I do not presume 
to say that the changes of death in the human 
race are at all analogous to any of these changes. 



32 CONSOLATORY VIEWS 

To say that, would imply a presumption of 
knowledge on our part, where we know abso- 
lutely nothing; but our ignorance is no more 
an argument against the wisdom or benevolence 
of the arrangement, and the kind ulterior designs 
to be answered by it, in the one case, than in 
the other. Of this we may be certain, that no 
such thing as accident can exist in the works 
of God, or the arrangements of the Divine 
Providence. Philosophy has long since demon- 
strated, in respect to what we call the system of 
nature, that any suspension or interruption of 
its great laws, or anything like what we call 
accident, intermingling in their operation, and 
disturbing their adjusted balance of powers and 
forces, would at once throw every thing into 
confusion, and bring universal ruin. There is 
reason to conclude that, in every department 
of nature where life exists and where death 
triumphs, there is always design, and no acci- 
dent; and, however ignorant we may be, how- 
ever incompetent to solve the problem, that 
design cannot be other than the perfection of 
wisdom. In the darkness, therefore, which 
appertains to the grave, we must acquiesce on 
the grounds of our own ignorance, but without 
the slightest distrust of the unerring wisdom of 
the appointment. 



OF DEATH. 33 

But death, in the next place, is terrible as the 
breaking up of our affections, and the severance 
of the nearest and dearest ties. It is terrible 
to put away from us what is beautiful, lovely, 
and dear to us; what we leaned upon; what 
constituted our main dependence and our chief 
hopes; what was the centre of attraction to us. 
It is painful to find our friends one after another 
leaving us; and to experience, as it were, a 
solitude in the midst of society. 

Yet it is obvious that the very circumstances 
which now, in fact, constitute and aggra-vate our 
grief, are those from which all our happiness 
sprung; and which constituted the basis of all our 
attachments. We mourn the removal of friends 
and children, because we loved them. We loved 
them, because they were lovely; because of 
their graces and their virtues; their beauty, 
affection, usefulness, and moral worth. Now 
would we, in order that we might have been 
saved the grief and anguish of parting with them, 
have preferred that they should have been 
without these causes and occasions of attraction 
and attachment? We must not ask for impos- 
sibilities. Because, in the nature of things, we 
could not lose those whom we love without 
suffering for it; and suffering the more in pro- 
portion as we loved them; and loving them the 



34 CONSOLATORY VIEWS 

more in proportion as they were lovely, we must 
not charge God with unkindness, in the suffer- 
ing which their death occasions. It is impos- 
sible that it should be otherwise than it is. 
Separate from every other consideration, let us 
suppose all these tender affections to become 
extinct, so that we might not suffer when they 
are taken away; whence should we then look 
for those kind offices, and assiduous, devoted, 
and untiring attentions and services, which the 
sick and dying so absolutely demand at the 
hands of those who are called to watch at their 
sick beds, and to close their fading eyes? 

These, however, I am aware are comparatively 
cold and negative consolations. They may lead 
the reflecting mind to an undoubting and calm 
acquiescence in the appointment of death; but 
the acting heart yearns after something more 
positive and substantial. This, I think, can 
only be found in the Gospel. The suggestions 
of reason and philosophy afford a strong ex- 
pectation and hope of a future life; but the 
Gospel alone gives confirmation to these hopes 
and expectations. 

If I were asked where I should go for any 
assurance to my hopes, I could only answer with 
Peter, " with Jesus alone are the words of eternal 
life." Whatever obscurity may prevail, in regard 



OF DEATH. 85 

to any other teachings or doctrines of the Gospel, 
there is none here. The certainty of a future 
life stands out prominently in every page of the 
New Testament. Jesus constantly asserted it. 
He died, and rose again, to confirm it. The 
apostles and all the early disciples lived upon 
the hopes and the assurance of it. St. Paul says, 
in the depth of his feelings, "he should choose to 
be absent from the body that he might be present 
with the Lord; and that while for him, to live 
is Christ, to die would be gain." 

The Gospel then solves the great problem of 
death, which had so long distressed the anxious 
inquiries, and laid like a stone upon the hearts 
of men — both simple and wise, ignorant and 
learned, peasant and philosopher. Death is not 
the termination of our being; it is but a stage 
in our existence ; it is only the passage to a new 
life. What an immense boon is conferred in 
this assurance; and for what on earth would we 
exchange this expectation? 

An affectionate and a natural curiosity im- 
patiently asks for more light on a subject which 
so entirely absorbs all the thoughts and affec- 
tions of the bereaved. What is the " change 
which death produces ? What is the state into 
which it introduces us? Here, indeed, revela- 
tion is not wholly silent, but it is not full, nor 



36 CONSOLATORY VIEWS 

explicit. It has not pleased God as yet to satisfy 
or answer the thousand inquiries that spring up 
in the affectionate heart. 

The Gospel is not, however, without hints 
or intimations, w r hich are full of interest. Our 
Saviour spoke of the patriarchs as still living; 
for he says, that ".all live unto God/' Our 
departed friends then still live with God. The 
death of the body has not extinguished the fires 
of the soul. Perhaps the removal of this in- 
cumbrance has served only to produce a brighter 
flame. Death, then, is not the destruction of 
the conscious existence, the never dying spirit; 
but like the beautiful chrysalis emerging with 
its glittering wings from its silken shroud, the 
grave becomes the passage to a new life.* 

* I have often meditated on the account given of what is 
called the Transfiguration of Jesus in the Mount, when he took 
with him his two disciples, Peter and John ; and when, it is 
said, that Moses and Elias appeared and conversed with him. 
I have met with no satisfactory explanation of this account; 
and it may not be well-judged to press an interpretation of a pas- 
sage so difficult and obscure. Elias, we know, is represented in 
the Old Testament as having been suddenly translated without 
dying; and of Moses, it is said, that his sepulchre was never 
found, — he retired from the sight of the people into the Mount, 
and was seen no more. We may infer from this account, that 
he was removed, like the prophet, without dying. 

Now the object of Jesus's death and resurrection was to give 
a positive and demonstrative proof of the doctrine of a future 



OF DEATH. 87 



But there is another lesson which the Gospel 
emphatically teaches. God has that in store for 
us which is infinitely better than anything which 
we have known here. Are the pleasures of the 
senses, the charms of the affections, the delights 
of progress, the gratifications of our curiosity, 
great here, — they shall all be infinitely continued, 
enlarged, purified, and elevated hereafter. 

I can imagine the winged spirit now bursting 
from its prison-house, and in its upward flight 
seeking: its native heaven. I am dazzled with 
the splendour of its burnished wings; I am 

life, which he expressly taught. The object of the Transfigu- 
ration was not only to strengthen Jesus for the endurance of 
his trials, but likewise to give to the disciples a glimpse of what 
a future life is to be; an example of a glorified body, which 
they had in the appearance of Moses and Elias. If this were 
so, there can be no longer any room for that interesting ques- 
tion, which so often comes up, and so deeply agitates many 
affectionate bosoms, whether they shall recognise their friends 
in a future life? for here were Moses and Elias, who had 
passed into the glorified state, seen and perfectly recognised as 
Moses and Elias. Without pressing the interpretation of this 
curious portion of the Scriptures too closely, it presents like- 
wise another interesting thought; — here were the departed 
ministering to those who were still on earth : and what infer- 
ence is more obvious than that there still prevails, with those 
who are gone, a strong interest and sympathy in the condition 
and fortunes of those whom they have left behind. This is a 
charming, a consoling, an elevating thought. It is not unrea- 
sonable to indulge it; and its moral influences cannot be other- 
wise than beneficial. 

E 



88 CONSOLATORY VIEWS 

charmed with the melody of its notes of praise. 
I see it on its way joining the Cherubim and 
Seraphim which surround the throne of the 
Divine Glory, and mingling its exalted sympa- 
thies with the perfected spirits of the just. I 
mark its rapturous welcome as it meets again 
the once-loved on earth, and pours out its de- 
lightful recognition of a parent, a child, a friend, 
whom last it saw shrouded in death, but now 
beholds resplendent in robes of light. I per- 
ceive its heavings of ecstasy, as it mingles with 
the wise and good of other lands and other 
times. I mark its radiant progress, as it floats 
still higher and higher in the regions of un- 
mixed light, basks in the sunshine of God's 
immediate presence, and slakes its thirst at the 
inexhaustible fountain of all wisdom, love, and 
holiness. I see it on its celestial way far above 
the regions of sin and death; and entering upon 
a progress in knowledge and goodness commen- 
surate only with its own immortality. I dare 
not trust myself to follow it in its farther flight. 
These you will say are only the visions of the 
imagination, the illusions of poetry! Be it so; 
yet they must fall infinitely short of the glorious 
realities; for eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, 
nor hath it entered into the heart of man to 
conceive what God hath prepared for them that 



OF DEATH. 39 

love Him. Is not this enough? Can we not 
now say, " Death where is thy sting! Grave 
where is thy victory!" 

Let the grave then no longer terrify. You 
must yield a while to the weakness of nature ; 
but let a faith, thus sanctioned and sustained, 
triumph over every other sentiment. Visit the 
graves of those whom you love; not to indulge 
repinings, but to exalt and strengthen your 
hopes. Those who have departed from you are 
still in the hands of the Being who loves all his 
children with an affection far stronger than the 
love of an earthly parent. Make their graves 
beautiful, — adorn them with the earliest blos- 
soms of spring and the latest flowers of autumn; 
and while the winding-sheet of winter wraps the 
spot where you last took leave of them on earth 
in radiant whiteness, remember that they now 
shine in robes whiter than the unspotted fleece 
which covers their earthly resting-place, and 
dwell in those heavenly fields where flowers 
bloom with an unfading lustre, and the reign of 
life and beauty is eternal. 

The appearances of death, painful and alarm- 
ing as they may be, to our weak nature, need 
not terrify us ; for what is impossible to Him 
who can quicken the dried kernel or seed in the 
earth, giving it such a body as it pleases Him to 



40 CONSOLATORY VIJUWS 

bestow, and cause that from this seed shall rise 
the beautiful plant with its shining foliage and 
its healthful and delicious fruit. 

That which is sown in the weakness of mor- 
tality shall be raised in the power of an endless 
life. We commit the precious remains of those 
who were as dear to us as our own lives to their 
last earthly resting-place; but, while memory 
holds its throne in the heart, there will remain 
the precious remembrances of their purity and 
usefulness, their kindness and affection, and all 
that made them so dear to us. While that which 
is mortal perishes, that which is moral remains. 
Over this, death has no power; these are the 
imperishable elements of the soul, and are to 
endure as long as that Infinite Being shall endure, 
who made man in his own image; and in his 
moral nature destined him to share in his own 
immortality. 

In the prospects which his faith and hopes 
presented to his mind, St. Paul seems to rise 
above all fear of death; and exclaims, in tones 
of sublime moral triumph, " O Grave, where is 
thy victory ! O death, where is thy sting ! ' 
Perhaps this should be always the effect of a 
true and elevated Christian faith; yet few of us, 
in reference to this great event, are able to adopt 
any other than the silent language of submission 



OF DEATH. 41 

or despair. The true triumphs of the mind 
consist in its superiority over the accidents of 
the body; and in sentiments, views, and hopes, 
which rob death of its power to produce in- 
consolable distress; and enable us to see the grave 
no longer shrouded in darkness, but radiant 
with the bow of promise and hope. The mind 
is in a degree the creature of discipline. It may 
be trained to the calm endurance of pains and 
evils, which would seem almost beyond the 
power of human nature to sustain. I admit that, 
in a degree, fortitude is an attribute of the 
physical constitution. It depends somewhat upon 
health, temperament, muscular strength, and 
energy. There is a hardness of nature, an in- 
sensibility to outward sufferings, to which men 
are sometimes formed by early exposure and 
severe physical suffering ; so that whatever they 
endure, no complaint and no signs of suffering 
are allowed to escape them. This was deemed 
the perfection of wisdom with a well-known sect 
of ancient philosophers. But this is not the 
fortitude, nor the spirit of triumph over outward 
circumstances, to which the mind is brought 
under the best influences of religion. The 
training of the mind, to which I refer, is that 
in which, under the calm convictions of reason 
and the power of religious faith and hope, it 

e 2 



42 CONSOLATORY VIEWS OF DEATH. 

becomes not insensible to pain and suffering, 
but capable of enduring them without complaint ; 
and of acquiescing in them, as the just, righteous, 
and paternal discipline of heaven; and of meet- 
ing them, and even death itself, with resignation, 
with hope, and even with a hearty and sublime 
welcome. No person who has had any con- 
siderable experience of life, can question the 
need and inexpressible value of such an attain- 
ment; the felicity of this Christian philosophy, 
which will enable him to look upon the world 
as a traveller on the mountain looks down on 
the scenes below him. While clouds and dark- 
ness float around its base, and the hoarse voice of 
the storm is heard from beneath, he is elevated 
above its power, and enjoys the serene heavens 
and the clear and the calm sunshine. 



PRAYERS. 



I. PRAYER UNDER THE DEATH OF A NEAR 

FRIEND. 

God! I would approach Thee as my only 
refuge in the time of my affliction; as the only 
source of consolation under my sorrows, and of 
support under my weakness. I would come 
emboldened by the assurance, and encouraged 
by the experience, which I have had, every 
day and hour of my life, of thy kindness and 
mercy. I am oppressed with grief. Merciful 
God, comfort me ! my heart is wrung with 
anguish; pity me, pity me! O my God; and 
assuage the bleeding wounds. 

Thou hast seen fit to take from me the 
friend upon whom my affections rested, with an 
intensity known only to thine eye. Sickness 
has wasted him, and death has removed him 
from my embraces. Help me, O my God, 
under this deep affliction, to bear it as I should, 
with fortitude, with hope, with unshaken trust 
in Thee, and with entire resignation. The cup 
which my Father hath given me, shall I not 
drink it! I would not have loved him less, but 
I would love Thee more; and whether by sue- 



44 PRAYERS 

cesses or disappointments, by joys or sorrows, 
by health or sickness, by acquisitions or bereave- 
ments, Thou art teaching me my entire depend- 
ence, may the effect be to draw me nearer to 
Thyself, and to absorb my will entirely in thine. 

Thy will be done. Thy will is wholly right- 
eous. Thy purposes are all kind and merciful. 
Thou dost not afflict thy creatures without some 
wise and benevolent end. Whatever darkness 
to my narrow and partial view may obsure thy 
designs, and render thy dispensations unsearch- 
able, suffer me not for a moment to distrust thy 
wisdom and unmixed goodness. I am thy 
child. I would cling to Thee continually with 
a stronger filial duty and love; and I would cast 
myself entirely upon thy paternal affection. 
Have mercy upon me, O my God, have mercy 
upon me; and let me not in this hour of trial 
sink under my burden. 

I would not be unmindful of thy goodness. 
May no sorrow to which I may be subjected 
shut from my sight the blessings which I have 
received at thy hands. The friend who is 
removed from me, was the gift of thy love. 
The virtues w T hich endeared him to me, the 
graces which won my affections, all the kind- 
ness which I received from him, all the pleasure 
which I found in his society, and all that sacred 



IN AFFLICTION. 45 

love which bound up his soul with mine, and 
made him dearer to me than any earthly object, 
came all from thy goodness, who hast made us 
to love and to serve each other ; who settest the 
solitary in families, and hast formed our hearts 
for the interchange of kind and holy affections. 
I would pour out my soul before Thee in thanks- 
givings for all which I have enjoyed, and I 
would entreat Thee to give me more and more 
strength to bear the privation of what was so 
dear to me. 

I would bow my head before Thee in calm 
submission to thine appointments. O my God, 
suffer no complaint to escape my lips ; still 
every murmur within my heart. Teach me to 
bear with fortitude whatever may be laid upon 
me ; and enable me to prove my affection for 
the dead, by a more assiduous and faithful dis- 
charge of my duties to the living, I have all 
need of thy mercy. Under a profound convic- 
tion of my unworthiness, I lament my imperfec- 
tions and sins. My only hope is in thy mercy. 
To that mercy thy blessed Son Jesus has 
directed me ; and to that I fly for forgiveness 
and succour. Impress my heart more and more 
deeply with the uncertainty of life, with the 
shortness of time, with a deep conviction of my 
own responsibleness, with a sense of my duty to 



46 PRAYERS 

Thee and to my fellow men, and with the ne- 
cessity while I live of living to some useful and 
good end. Permit me not to waste or to abuse 
my talents; to neglect or to misuse any means 
or opportunity of doing good. 

May I become more and more prepared for 
my own departure by an increased fidelity and 
diligence in the performance of my duty. In 
thy mercy, may I rejoin at last the friends 
whom thy providence has removed, in that 
blessed world where all tears shall be wiped 
away; where death can never come; and where 
virtuous affections will be eternal. This, O 
God, I humbly beg in the name of that blessed 
Saviour, whose patience and resignation I would 
follow, whose promises inspire my hopes, and 
whose resurrection gives me the assurance of 
immortality. Amen. 



IN AFFLICTION. 47 



II. PRAYER UNDER THE DEATH OF A CHILD. 

O God, father, guardian, and friend of all 
Thy creatures, permit me to spread my sorrows 
before Thee, and to ask the support which my 
weakness demands. Under the affliction which 
presses upon me, grant me consolation'; and 
permit no thought or feeling to stir within me, 
and no word or act to escape me, inconsistent 
with an entire confidence in thy wisdom to dis- 
cern, and in thy kindness to do that only which 
is best. With myself, with all that I call mine, 
and all that my heart holds dear, may thy will 
be done. 

It hath pleased Thee, O God, to take from 
me my dear child, in the midst of promise and 
hope, and to pluck the flower in its very open- 
ing. The ties which bind us to each other, 
are of thine appointment; the affection which 
we feel for our children, is inspired by Thee. 
When these ties are broken, and the objects of 
this affection are removed from us, pity our 
grief and anguish, we beseech Thee, and grant 
us consolation. Thou givest and Thou takest 
away ; it is not for me to claim exemption from 
the universal lot. In the affection which we 



48 PRAYERS 

feel for our children, may we recognise thy 
love; and may the intense kindness and devotion 
with which we regard them^ assure us more and 
more of thy love, O Thou who art our Father 
and the Father of our offspring. 

In this deep affliction, in this hour of sad 
disappointment and grief, may I be sustained. 
My trust is in Thee only. When the earthly 
props of my dependence fail, may I feel more 
and more the necessity and privilege of com- 
mending myself to thy care, O Thou who alone 
art able to keep me from falling. Compassionate 
my weakness, forgive the excess of my grief, 
pity, merciful God, the anguish of my bleeding 
affections and disappointed hopes ; but in the 
sorrow which overwhelms me permit me not to 
lose the possession of myself. Give me forti- 
tude and courage, and strength, to perform my 
duties to the dead and to the living. 

We are compelled to quit our hold upon ob- 
jects so dear to us, but they are safe in thy 
keeping. We commit them to their last earthly 
repose, persuaded that Thou watchest over their 
sleep ; and in the sure and certain hope, that 
they shall wake to an immortal life, and the 
garments of death be exchanged for the robes 
of light. We rejoice in the blessed expectation 
that we shall meet and embrace each other in 



IN AFFLICTION. 49 

that heavenly state, where sickness and grief, 
and sin and death, cannot follow us. 

What thanks can I render to Thee for the 
Gospel of Christ ; and for the assurance which 
his teaching gives, and his resurrection con- 
firms, of an immortal life! Increase my faith 
more and more; strengthen and elevate my 
hopes ; and may the departure of those whom I 
love, serve to reconcile me to my own destiny, 
and to make me ready for the summons which 
awaits myself. 

O my God and Father, am I not thine, and 
is not all I possess thine ? I will resign myself, 
and all I hold dear, to thy wise and merciful 
disposal, and inspire me I beseech Thee with an 
unfaltering submission to thy will. Amen, 



50 PRAYERS 



III. PRAYER FOR SUBMISSION TO THE WILL 

OF GOD. 

O God, who reignest supreme throughout 
the universe, and whose care and dominion 
embrace alike all beings and all worlds, I would 
express before Thee my humble duty and adora- 
tion. The creature of thy power, I would thank 
Thee for the gift of life; the object of thy 
constant and merciful providence, I would grate- 
fully acknowledge the kindness which I have 
experienced; the subject of thy government, I 
would render a willing and constant obedience 
to all thy commands. I would withdraw 
myself from no trial to which Thou art pleased 
to subject me. I would shrink from no sacrifice 
which Thou seest fit to require. I would 
humbly submit to thy disposal, all that I pos- 
sess; the objects which are most dear to me, all 
that I have reason to hope, all that I may have 
any grounds to fear. Confiding in thy wisdom, 
as that alone which can discern what is best for 
me, and in thy power to effect all thy pur- 
poses, and in thy love and kindness to seek 
nothing but ultimate and unmixed good for 
thy creatures, with my whole heart I would 
pray that thy will may be done. Strengthen 



IN AFFLICTION. 51 

me by the principles and hopes of the Gospel; 
and may the example of Jesus in his sufferings 
inspire in me, in my humble measure, a like 
courage, fortitude, patience, and resignation. 

Thy nature, O God, is wholly love. Thy 
purposes all are wise and benevolent. May 
no vain regrets disturb my tranquillity; no 
doubts nor distrust mingle with my faith. May 
my life be consecrated to Thee in humble duty, 
and my whole heart be given up to Thee in 
grateful affection, in filial confidence, and in 
entire and unreserved submission. Amen. 



52 PRAYERS 



IV. PRAYER FOR ANOTHER ON THE NEAR 
APPROACH OF DEATH. 

O God, whose listening ear is never turned 
away from the sighs of the afflicted, and who 
art full of compassion for the weakness and 
frailty of thy children on earth, in this painful 
hour of trial, look upon me in mercy. Have 
compassion upon my dear [friend, child* parent, 
brother, sister] now closing his eyes upon every 
thing that is earthly, to wake only upon that 
which is beyond the grave. May his reason be 
sustained, and his whole soul be lifted up to Thee 
in affection and hope. May he experience the sup- 
port and consolation of thy conscious presence. 
May he be consoled under the assurance that death 
as well as life, is the appointment of thy bene- 
volence and wisdom, and feel an entire security in 
thy protection and love. 

While he looks back upon a life crowded with 
imperfections, defects, and sins, may he be com- 
forted by the words of that blessed Saviour, who 
came to seek and to save that which was perish- 
ing. Save him from distressing pains ; enable him 

* This prayer is suited to the case of a child, by leaving out 
the portions in Italics; and though single prayers, all of them, 
as is obvious, may be easily adapted to a joint or social service, 
by a mere change of person. 



IN AFFLICTION. 53 

to possess himself in this trying hour ; brighten 
his hopes of a future life, and sustain his anxious 
mind with Divine peace. 

Strengthen us all under the duties to which 
we are called. May we not falter, nor be over- 
come in this bitter trial. Make us grateful for 
every opportunity of shewing kindness, and, in 
any way, of alleviating the pains or comforting 
the heart of our dear [friend, child, parent, brother, 
sister] ; and may the going out of the light of 
life on earth be only preparatory to its rekindling 
in that blessed world to which Jesus has directed 
our faith and hopes. In thine infinite mercy, 
when our earthly pilgrimage has ended, may we 
be again united with the dear friends who have 
gone before us, and those who shall come after 
us, in a better and an immortal life. 

O God, pity and assuage our griefs. Suffer 
not even death itself to terrify us; but give us, 
we beseech Thee, the complete victory of Chris- 
tian faith and hope, over death and the grave. 
Our hopes rest on Thee. O God, have mercy 
upon us, have mercy upon us ; and comfort us, 
through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. 

THE END. 



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